Keeping the Watch
by Namls
Summary: Series of ficlets where I explore characters' thoughts.
1. Boromir

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Author's Note: A short ficlet on Boromir. Inspiration came from something I read in a thread at tolkienonline.com. I've often wondered what kind of things went on during the days and nights of the journey which Tolkien never tells us about. How did the relationships deepen, what kind of things went on and what did each individual character think and feel concerning the others? A few of those thoughts have also inspired me. It's short, but I hope you'll enjoy! =)

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Disclaimer: The characters belong to JRR Tolkien and are used without permission but also without profit.

Boromir sat down on a log and pulled his cape around him. It had been a long day but oddly enough he wasn't tired. The others were settling down around him, most of them would get to sleep through the night without keeping watch but tonight it was Boromir's turn to keep the others safe while they slept. He would have the first watch for about three hours and then hand the responsibility over and try to get some sleep.

It would be a while yet before there was silence in the group, a silence which would be soon broken again by Gimli and Sam snoring. Yet the members of the fellowship weren't entirely ready to close their eyes, even though the usual quarrel over who got to sleep where had been settled there was still a lot of shifting and adjusting to be done, as well as some final words before sleep came. Boromir's eyes fell on the two closest to him, Merry and Pippin. Pippin, who was cantankerous on this particular night, was on Merry's throat over their one dry quilt and Merry let him have it without a fight. The older Hobbit was already half asleep and couldn't bother bickering over who owned the dry quilt and who owned the one that had gotten wet. Pippin grumpily pulled the quilt up to his ears and greedily wrapped it around himself instead of sharing part of it with his cousin.

Boromir smiled at the sight of the two. It warmed his heart to see them, they reminded him of himself and his brother. He often wondered about Faramir and how he was doing, if their father had managed to break his younger brother's spirit yet. Sometimes he wished the fellowship would make much better speed so that he could come back to Gondor and protect his brother from their father who seemed unable to find anything good in his younger son.

At the same time Boromir didn't want to part from this group. Sometimes when he kept his watch he was overcome by a strong feeling if belonging and of friendship, this motley crew he traveled with felt like his family. And Merry and Pippin were his special younger brothers, almost like his sons. They looked up to him and admired him and paid attention to him. Frodo mostly ignored Boromir, acted as if he didn't matter, and since Frodo treated him that way Sam treated him that way too. But Merry and Pippin asked him a million questions about everything from the ground to the sky and he had noticed that they tended to seek shelter with him rather than Aragorn. It made Boromir proud and woke his natural protective instinct. All his life he had been protective of Faramir, now Merry and Pippin filled that empty part of Boromir's life when Faramir wasn't there for him to protect.

Pippin, who now seemed annoyed that his cousin was asleep, rolled over on his other side, wrapping himself even further in the quilt. Boromir decided to let Pippin sleep longer, he wouldn't wake him up in three hours when it was the Hobbit's turn to keep watch. Pippin seemed like he could use some extra sleep, and Boromir knew he could last at least an hour more than intended. He caught himself frowning at how Pippin had turned his back at Merry. Whatever reason for Pippin's anger it hardly had anything to do with Merry. It was only far too easy to take it out on those you loved, those who would forgive and forget and be there for you tomorrow anyway. Especially in the relationship between Pippin and Merry, the older had an unending patience with the younger and all of Pippin's anger seemed to wash over Merry like water off a goose. Boromir only hoped Pippin would never come to regret taking his anger out on his seemingly unbothered friend. Boromir had many times regretted taking anger and frustration out on friends who had shortly after been killed in battle.

One by one the members of the fellowship fell silent. Sam's snoring came first, shortly followed by Gimli's and Aragorn's. Even Pippin's breaths slowed and evened and told Boromir that he was asleep. Soon Boromir was the only one awake, with only his thoughts to keep him company. His friends, his brothers, were all snuggled under their blankets like little children, all except for Merry who slept without a quilt. The one Pippin had gotten wet earlier was flung over a pole to dry.

Pippin woke up after a short while and felt a sting of guilt. He had snarled at Merry even though his cousin hadn't done anything to deserve it, and he had greedily and selfishly wrapped himself in the only dry blanket and turned his back to his friend. What had he done? Almost in panic he rolled around and got out of the blanket. He moved as close to Merry as he could, enjoying the heat from the familiar body, and was just about to pull the quilt over both himself and Merry, when he noticed that Merry was sleeping under a cape that hadn't been there before. Surprised Pippin looked up and saw Boromir sitting on a log, his cape missing, and his eyes met with the man's. Boromir gently shushed him.

"It was only a dream" he said, having noticed the Hobbit's sudden awakening. "Go back to sleep."

The Hobbit nodded slowly for an answer and relaxed again. He put an arm around Merry and nuzzled his face against his cousin's shoulder, letting the familiar breaths lull him back to sleep. The cape smelled of Boromir and made him feel safe.

Please review and tell me what was good and what I can improve! 


	2. Éowyn

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Author's Note: After some going back and forth-ing I've finally decided to gather whatever fics I write where someone ponders while keeping watch as one series. This story was originally posted as a single fic, but I took that one down and now I'm reposting it as a chapter. The short piece on Boromir was great fun for me, I got to explore the character's opinions and thoughts. I realised I'll probably be doing many fics in that style so why not gather them as one series, with stand alone chapters? These are all my own interpretations of course, someone else might see the characters differently, but that's what fanfiction is all about isn't it? Interpreting characters. This ficlet is for Éowyn, without a doubt my favourite character outside the fellowship (and tied with Pippin as my second favourite all-together). I hope you'll enjoy.

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Disclaimer: Éowyn and _the Return of the King_ with its events and places belong to JRR Tolkien.

Darkness fell around Éowyn as she sat awake by the fire. Someone had ordered Dernhelm, Éowyn, to keep watch the first hour of the night and he, she, obeyed. It had never occurred to her to refuse even though she in her life had never had to stay awake and keep watch other than by own choice over sick relatives. She didn't want to disobey, or do anything that stuck out, she wanted to be just like the warriors around her. Just like the men. Wanted to be their equal. She wanted to do the watch duties, carry the heavy armor, kill her own food, sleep on the hard ground and ride to an uncertain end. Not have everything neatly served to her on a platter, with people constantly worrying that she would get her hands dirty. She wanted to feel alive.

It all depended on her keeping her secret. She didn't know what would happen if she was found out but she could imagine her uncle sending her straight back. If not him then Éomer. It was unfair. All of her life she and Éomer had been equals except for one thing. He got to ride out and meet danger, feel alive. She had to stay at home and be kept safe, having others live her life for her. Her beloved brother understood everything about her, except this longing to see more than what the cage of safety had to offer. Perhaps he felt a woman should be kept safe and not have desires to meet danger. In truth she knew that he fought many of his battles so that she would be safe and that it meant a lot to him that she was protected. Now she was lying to him, him and her uncle, for the first time. They thought their beloved White Lady was safe and protected where they had left her. She would let them go on believing that. She didn't want to be in their way or cause them worries. She had a feeling that if her secret was found out she would put everyone's life in danger. She would have disturbed the order and the way things were done, caused confusion and commotion, and soldiers would have to accompany her back to where they had thought they left her. Soldiers who were needed in the upcoming fight.

Her other secret wasn't as well kept. It was crawled up beside her under a bunch of quilts, where she could see it, where she could watch over it. She had the responsibility for this secret's well being and she didn't know why she had done such a foolish thing. The last thing she needed was more things to keep her mind on, even though she secretly welcomed having something else to think about every now and then. It had been foolish to burden her shoulders with this second secret. But she couldn't deny someone else the chance she was taking for herself.

She looked around at the soldiers. The men of Rohan. The men she so desperately wanted to live like, the men who perhaps died young but who at least lived life before they did. They were now unshaven, hadn't bathed for weeks and were sleeping with the ground as their mattress. She thought it was wonderful. Nobody had to worry about their appearance, nobody fussed over her comfort. She had long suspected that one could live even without the luxuries she had been brought up in, and even though the world around her had claimed she couldn't she was now proving that she could. She didn't need maids and beautiful dresses and food always neatly served on a plate by a solid table. She could live anyway. She could live like her people. She hated being the White Lady, everyone looked up to her and admired her but in truth she had no idea what it was like to be a citizen of Rohan. Not until now. Now she knew how the men of Rohan lived, how people got by without lots of comforts and beautiful things all around them. Now she felt like their lady, like one of them. Like someone worthy of their admiration because she was one of them.

Looking at the soldiers she suddenly felt a lump in her throat. Every one of them seemed to have a comrade, a trusted friend among the other soldiers. She had kept to herself on purpose, hoping to avoid being discovered, and she didn't mind solitude. She was used to solitude. But she was going into battle, she knew that much. These men around her were going into battle. And they all had someone. Each and every one seemed to have one or more good friends, someone they leaned on and turned to. It was only natural, she had heard her brother and her now deceased cousin talk about how brotherhood develops between soldiers who ride out to war. Éowyn had never had a friend in her life, only maids. She had her brother, but it had now been a long time since he had been able to stay home for more than a few days at a time. He no longer had time for her like he had had in the past, war was upon them. Even before the war had started he had been needed elsewhere. He had been needed for Rohan, but even though she was born by the same mother to the same father she wasn't needed. She was a woman. She was alone.

All these soldiers around her. They all had a friend, a confidante, someone they would stick by in battle and draw their swords and raise their courage with. Someone they would look after and aid, someone who would look after them in return. She had seen it so clearly in Aragorn and his friends, clearer than ever before. Friendship. The Dwarf and the Elf would follow him to whatever end because they were his brothers in arm and his family by heart. His friends. She had envied that bond. She envied the bonds these soldiers had amongst themselves. She envied how they cared about someone else so deeply without being related or being in love, and she envied how each and every one of them had those feelings responded by others. These men knew that they were not alone. They knew that not even in the chaos of battle, surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies, would they be alone, no matter how dark things would appear. They knew without a moment's hesitation that if they were in a tough spot one of their friends would be there for them as soon as humanly possible.

But who would be there for Dernhelm?

By her side slept a Hobbit.

Please leave a review and let me know what you think! I'm working on a third ficlet like this, it should be up soon.


	3. Pippin

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Author's Note: If you've read any of other fics you probably know that I'm a huge Merry and Pippin fan. There is a RotK movie rumor which I based this ficlet on, this time it's Pippin keeping watch over his cousin at the Houses of Healing. The rumor is, in short terms, that Merry won't wake up by Aragorn's hand but when the Ring is destroyed. Do I believe this will happen in the movie? Probably not. But it made an interesting foundation for this ficlet. More angst than what I've written before, I hope it's not too mushy.

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Disclaimer: Based on characters and events created by JRR Tolkien. One thing Pippin says is a rewrite of something he says in _the Return of the King_, that line also belongs to Tolkien.

All was quiet in the room except for the sound of Pippin breathing in and out. The sound of Merry's breaths could not be heard, they were so faint that often Pippin wondered if they were even there.

His cousin looked dead. His face was white as snow, his lips blue as bluebells and his breaths were so faint that one had to look very hard to see the chest rise and fall to take new air in. Merry was out of reach.

Pippin didn't know how many days had passed since that horrible day when the Rohirrim had arrived at Minas Tirith and liberated the city. Every shred of triumph that Pippin had so proudly felt was gone. It had vanished like Merry's blade after stabbing the Witch King of Angmar. All that was left now was an aching loneliness. He was too tired for tears, too weary for grief. For a moment all emotions had left him but he knew they would soon be back with ten times the force. Merry was gone.

It was something he would never forget, that moment when it became clear that Strider couldn't wake Merry up. It had been so easy with Faramir and Éowyn but Merry didn't respond. Pippin didn't remember much of what he had said and done, all he knew was that he had never been so terrified in his life. And the worst part was, he never got to say goodbye. He and Merry were parted in such a haste and Merry had been too sick when they were reunited. But no matter how sick he was Pippin had been confident that Strider could cure him. Especially when Faramir and Éowyn responded so well. He had refused to believe it at first, Faramir had been under the Shadow far longer than Merry and hadn't Pippin heard so often during his journey that Hobbits were remarkably resistant? He hadn't seen that most of Merry's strength had been spent when he faced his mighty foe and that the Witch King had inserted as much of his evil as he could onto the Hobbit. There was nothing Aragorn could do. Merry was beyond reach, he would either die or become a wraith. Only time would tell.

They had tried to keep him away from Merry. They had said that it was better for him to part with his cousin now and remember him for all the good in him, than to stay and see his cousin slowly fade and possibly become the enemy. But Pippin had proven just how stubborn he could be, and not even the joined forces of Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf had been able to keep him away. So they had allowed him to have his way, and now Pippin wouldn't let anybody into the room. He wanted to cope with his grief alone.

How would he even begin? How would he ever know what to do now? How would he be able to let go when his cousin lingered on, out of reach but not out of sight? And what would he tell aunt Esmeralda and uncle Saradoc? All of their hopes and dreams for the future were lying there on the bed, drifting further away with each minute. And with him went Pippin's life.

The darkness surrounding him somehow felt comforting in his loneliness. He didn't wish to see sunlight or hear birds twitter, he couldn't imagine that it would be as warm and bright when Merry was gone. Somehow it felt like a betrayal of the world around him if there would still be joy in the world when his cousin left. Pippin had a feeling that the sun might shine but it would never again warm his cheek.

Pippin assumed that his whole body was aching. He didn't care enough to notice. He had been sitting on his knees by the bedside for so long now it was almost as if he had frozen in that position. His upper body rested on the bed, his right cheek rested against the quilts that covered his cousin. Pippin's left hand had held on to Merry's right for as long as he had been able to, but the coldness had gotten too intense and was beginning to burn Pippin's hand. Now it gently caressed his cousin's arm which was clad in Gimli's best nightgown.

How long must this go on? How long would they both be able to last? How long before Merry's faint breaths ceased for good, or his eyes opened but with the emptiness of a wraith in them? How long before Pippin fainted with exhaustion and hunger? How long before he would be able to live without his cousin?

Every second of this wake was torture but Pippin feared for it to end. When it did, the worst pain of his life would be there to stay. He couldn't accept that his cousin was gone yet he couldn't allow himself to believe that he would wake up. It was just too painful, that hope would sooner or later drive him mad. He knew what he must do was to take a deep breath, bite down hard and learn to keep balance in life without Merry. Sooner or later he would be forced to come to terms with this loss and to stand on his own two feet, with nobody to lean upon. But not yet. He just couldn't do it yet. Not so long as his cousin still drew breath. He couldn't give up on him and leave him, he owed it to him to be there until the very end. He would wake here for as long as Merry's life lasted. What came after that was a bridge he didn't have the strength to cross right now. How would he ever be able to cross it, when the one who would have carried him over was gone?

Somewhere deep down he knew that life would once again be lived even without his cousin, but he knew that he would never be able to carry on like before. That jesting, funloving, charming Hobbit his companions knew and loved would be no more. He would no longer have a place or a purpose, the one he defined his own life by could not leave without taking most of Pippin with him. And why would he even bother smiling? Who would be there to appreciate his smiles? There was only one person Pippin cared about seeing him smile and to heck with the rest of them. They could not help him now, no more than he could help Merry.

He lifted his head and harked, his throat was completely dry from not having spoken or had anything to drink in so long. He slowly breathed in and out, feeling only empty and cold inside. How painful it was to cherish these moments of torture, knowing that it was the last precious time he had with the one who had always been there. Always, but no more.

"Cousin…" he said with a cracking voice. "I'm so sorry. You've always been there for me. Always helped me out, always saved me from trouble and solved my problems. You've protected me and shielded me… And now I cannot return the favor. I'm sorry."

There was no response. Merry couldn't hear him. Pippin knew this, but it didn't matter. He needed to hear himself speak, to at least once more in life talk to Merry in person. And he wanted to believe that if one voice could reach Merry in whatever darkness he was in, it would be Pippin's.

"They say I should remember you in good ways, not like this" he said. "Believe me cousin, I shall. After all you've meant to me, how could I remember you any other way? You were the calm in the eye of every storm… the glue that held me together when I wanted to fall apart. You made the sun shine brighter and the flowers smell sweeter just by being alive. It's like my senses don't work properly when I'm by myself."

He looked down on his hands and was thankful that he still felt this emptiness. It was dangerous to speak, it could release the flood of emotion he was holding back, but he had to risk it.

"I feel everything much clearer when I'm with you. Perhaps we really are one soul that somehow got spread out over two Hobbits. I've heard twins say that no matter how close they are they are still two, not one. But you are me and I am you, and nothing can change that. Perhaps it will be a comfort to me later, that part of you will live in me. I… I can't feel a thing right now, cousin. You must be very far away. I don't feel anything anymore. My sisters have always talked about how they long to find their soulmate, the person they will love and cherish forever. I've already found mine, you're my soulmate, my kindred spirit. No romantic love can ever mean more to me, no lass could ever take your place or understand me better. Meriadoc I need you."

What did he want to say to Merry? He didn't know. But somehow he knew that he hadn't said it yet. He didn't know how to put his feelings into words, he had never had to before, not with Merry who could read him by looking at him. Pippin would never have a bond like that with anyone else, no matter how long he lived.

"Why do you have to leave me like this? Don't go! Don't take away everything that's real in my life, everything that's good and right! Your parents knew what they were doing when they named you, never has anyone had a more fitting name. Always so Merry… everything merry in this world is for me thanks to you. With you gone I am nothing, I'm a wreckage, a piece of driftwood on a stormy sea. Without hope, without future. I'll be lost when I lose you. How can you leave me, how can you go? I still feel nothing, and it's all because of you, if you were awake I would feel. All my life you've been there, bringing joy and laughter, bringing comfort and security. Always making me feel like Pippin." Then all emotions came back, hitting him like a ton of bricks, and his voice broke under his tears. "But now you're gone there's only pain and nothing I can do. And I don't want to live this life if I can't live for you."

His entire body shook with sobs as he buried his face in the quilts. There was no point anymore. All was lost, he was lonelier than anyone had ever been. For the first time in his life he stood alone, unprotected. Merry would not be there to comfort him.

Gandalf broke Pippin's privacy only when he couldn't wait any longer. They had all decided, Pippin could not go on like this. And they needed every person they could muster for the battle they were riding off to. Gandalf came alone, Aragorn stayed outside the city and Legolas had to stay away to cope. He was an Elf and not used to losing so many people that he loved. Gimli had refused to come since he didn't want to see Pippin and Merry together. He felt like they had lost both Hobbits, Pippin had been beyond anyone's reach since Aragorn failed to resurrect Merry. So Gandalf came alone.

He didn't know for how long Pippin had been kneeled by Merry's bedside but it was far too long. Gandalf made his presence clear and entered the room. Pippin didn't acknowledge him.

"He won't get any better" Gandalf said softly. "There is nothing for you here."

"He's not dead yet."

"Come Peregrin. You've sworn Gondor your allegiance and there has never been a greater need for it than now. Leave Merry now, say goodbye, and help those friends who are still within your grasp."

"It's not right…" Pippin mumbled. "We should die together Merry and I, and since die we both must, why not?"

Suddenly he rose to his feet and within a second had his sword raised above his head. Gandalf reacted quicker than lightning and stopped the hand as soon as it began to let the sword fall.

"No Peregrin!" he said firmly. "You are not like Denethor. You will not kill yourself and you will not kill him. You owe him more than that. You will come with me now and get ready to ride out to battle. You can't help Merry, but you might still be able to help Frodo."

Pippin dropped his sword with a laud gasp. Breathing heavily he backed away from the bed and his face was almost as pale as Merry's. Gandalf repeated his words and Pippin was powerless to disobey.

"Come along" Gandalf said. "Your cousin will be watched over. Let's get you ready to leave."

Pippin obediently turned and headed for the door, but kept his eyes on Merry. His heart was filled with rage now. And determination. If Merry left the world so would Pippin. The sooner he got out to the battlefield the sooner his life would end and he could be with Merry again. He looked at his cousin and the pain stabbed him like a thousand knives to the heart.

"_But now you're gone, there's only pain, and nothing I can do. And I don't want to live this life if I can't live for you._"

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End disclaimer: Those last lines always get to me, I think they're among the most beautiful things ever written about sorrow. Sid Vicious wrote them, to Nancy Spungen after her death. Who would have believed that a person known by the name Vicious would write something so moving? I know he's said to have killed Spungen, personally I don't think he did, but that's a whole other story. These words from his poem kept coming into my head when I wrote this ficlet and I knew I had to include them.

I would love a review! Did you like it, did you not like it? What was good and what can be improved? Was it too mushy? Did it sound too much like the chapter of "Each Passing Year" where Aramac is born? Any other comments? I'm eager to know! =)


	4. Denethor

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Author's Note: I've been meaning to write this ficlet for quite some time now, but I've been so busy with "The Tale of Years" that I haven't gotten around to it. This story is about Denethor. It is very short, since there is not as much material about Denethor as there was for the first three characters I wrote about. But I wanted to write this anyway, I wanted to interpret on my own what made Denethor think less of Faramir than of Boromir and also what went through Denethor's head when Faramir was ill. Whether or not my interpretation is anywhere near what Tolkien had in mind I don't know, but this is how I saw it.

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Disclaimer: Denethor, Faramir, Boromir and Pippin are all characters that belong to JRR Tolkien. I use them without permission but also without profit.

Night was falling, or perhaps day was breaking. Denethor was not really sure. He had lost track of time since they brought his son to him, badly wounded and with a deadly fever. They could say whatever they wanted to, Faramir would not survive. Surely Denethor would be able to tell, he was after all the boy's father.

None of them would survive. The battle had come which would claim all their lives, and there was nothing they could do to stop it. Faramir would only be the first of many, many. Denethor would surely die soon after him, and then they would both be reunited with Boromir.

Boromir. The perfect son, the one Denethor had always admired and been proud of. Boromir was a man, a warrior, a steward. His little brother Faramir was much gentler and softer, one who if the world was not coming to an end and he would have become the steward of Gondor, would have ruled with what he saw as kindness and compassion. The truth was that people would run Faramir over within a few days and he would soon lose all the real power that was invested in the steward.

They were two different men, the sons of Denethor. One was a warrior in love with combat and the thrill it gave, the other was a warrior only by duty and to protect the lands he loved. One had the mind of a steward and the authority that would lead his men through any tough spot, the other had a softer mind who would never have become captain had he not been the son of the steward.

Denethor had not said that he loved his younger son in a long time. What was the point? They were both going to die soon, and compared to death and war what did love matter? But now he wished that he had said it more often. He knew it would have mattered to Faramir.

Denethor's two sons were indeed different. Boromir was strong, Faramir was weak. It had always been that way, ever since they were little. Denethor had always admired the strength in Boromir and frowned upon the weakness in Faramir.

The truth was that Denethor himself was much more like Faramir than he was like Boromir. When he looked at his youngest son he saw all of the weak traits in himself and he despised his son for having inherited them. Denethor had once been like Faramir, soft, gentle and more loving of nature and lands than of the sword and shield. But that was in the past. Denethor had learned to control those sides of his personality and with time turned into the man he was today. But Faramir never even tried, he seemed to like those traits that Denethor had always seen as signs of weakness. That was the reason why Denethor had always had trouble accepting his younger son. Whenever Faramir did something that Denethor found weak, the old steward saw himself in those actions and despised it.

It had taken him until this day and this point to realise that Faramir had other traits than only the weak ones. He had ridden out to a hopeless situation and shown a courage unlike any other. For Denethor knew, far more well than his sons had ever guessed, that no act of bravery was more courageous than doing something you feared terribly. Faramir had feared going out to the battlefield, knowing that it was hopeless. Denethor had seen that and had been angered by it, a real warrior shouldn't fear battle. But Faramir had gone anyway and this was what had become of him. Denethor knew he had gone not only because he was courageous, but because he loved his father and wanted to please him. Faramir had always wanted to please him, but had always failed since he wanted to be accepted for who he was and not change his ways.

"My courageous son"… Denethor said and stroke Faramir's hot forehead. "If only your act of courage will be remembered in song. But it is too late for that. We all shall perish soon."

The hour of Gondor's doom was drawing near. Outside the battle was raging. There was no way out. There was no use now in regretting things that had been over the past years. There was no use in regretting having blamed his son for having faults that Denethor himself had always had. Even if he now took back all the harsh thoughts he had had and begged his son to forgive him for having despised him only since he saw his own weakness in him, even if he could do that it would not make a difference. Death was closing in on them both. Soon they would be with Boromir. Boromir the Brave the Perian had called him. Denethor wished Faramir could have an epithet like that as well. But there would be nobody left to write songs about him or tell stories about him. Faramir son of Denethor would fall into oblivion together with his father, his brother and his people.

It was strange how life went sometimes. How one could frown upon one's own son for being like oneself. But it had always been hard for Denethor to see the things he disliked about himself in Faramir. He had tried all of his life to escape those traits, then his son had grown up having those exact traits and had chosen to nurture them instead of hide them. Every time Denethor saw Faramir he saw the things he had tried so hard to bury within himself, his son had always been a constant reminder of that soft, gentle side Denethor hated about himself. Faramir would have been better off born as the son to a farmer, born into a family where those traits were not an obstacle. Denethor had seen it as Faramir's duty to set aside those weak sides and strive to be more like his father, but Faramir had never even seemed to try. Right now Denethor found himself wishing that he had allowed those qualities to stay, just like Faramir had done. Maybe if he had, he would not have sent his son to certain death. But they were all going to die soon anyway.

It was time to do something now. Denethor had been keeping watch for a long time, still no improvement in Faramir. The Perian seemed unwilling to give up hope, but he was a silly child. Denethor had seen in the palantír that there was no hope at all.

Faramir had ridden out to battle, knowing that there was no hope at all. It was time for Denethor to do the same. It was time for him to end his and Faramir's life, now, on Denethor's terms. He had been keeping watch long enough.

Please review! Any general thoughts are welcome!


	5. Frodo

**Author's Note**: It's really been a while since I added to this series! This chapter is about Frodo, going back to when the Fellowship were en route to the Misty Mountains. Some things may not coincide with the Boromir story. Enjoy anyways.

**Disclaimer**: The Fellowship belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Frodo rubbed his hands together and then stuck them under his armpits to keep them warm. Most of the time the weather was warm but some nights were cold enough to remind them all that it was only January. Especially nights like these when Gandalf didn't want them to light any fires, in case any foul creatures might show up.

It was Frodo's turn to stay awake and keep a guarding eye while the others slept. Not even the Ringbearer got to escape this duty, which meant two hours of watching and four hours of sleep. Then you got two nights of rest before it was your turn again. If you were unlucky, as Frodo was tonight, you got stuck with the middle shift which meant getting two hours of sleep, two hours awake and then two more hours of sleep. It was enough to make anyone cranky.

He said goodnight to Merry, who had been keeping the first watch, and glanced longingly over at Aragorn who would be taking the next, wishing he could wake him up soon. The watches were kept on a rolling schedule where they were divided into groups of three and within each group they took turns taking the early-mid-late shifts. Gandalf had insisted that the Hobbits be spread out, but as there were four of them two had to share a night and Frodo and Merry had been deemed least likely to fall asleep or in any other way mess up. Not that any of the Hobbits had shown any tendencies to sleep on the job, their keen eyes and pointed ears made them better guards than most people, or would have if they weren't in the company of Elves, rangers and wizards.

It was always lonesome to have the middle watch. Merry had been lucky, he had gotten the first one, during which the others all settled down, spoke in soft voices and told a story or two before going to sleep. The late shift, which Aragorn would take, had the benefit of the others waking up by the end of it. But when you had the mid shift everyone else stayed asleep and you were all alone with your thoughts. Frodo didn't like being alone with his thoughts, he had too many dark things to think about.

He knew Pippin was going to have the mid shift the next night, but somehow he always managed to get Legolas to trade with him and Frodo couldn't think of a single night that Pippin had taken the shift they all hated. He had even managed to get Gandalf to trade with him once, which Frodo had no doubts that Sam would be writing into songs further down the line, as t was that much of an accomplishment.

While he sat there in the night he looked out over the company. Faithful old Sam had fallen asleep like a log the minute Aragorn had declared that it was time to go to rest; he had had the last shift the night before and needed sleep. Now he was snoring along with Gimli and Gandalf on Frodo's left side, the three of them neatly lined up in a row, the tallest furthest away and the shortest nearest Frodo. On Frodo's right side Boromir and Aragorn were both rolled up on their sides facing one another with their packs safely tucked in between them. Pippin lay close to the pony Bill, usually where Sam would be but tonight Sam had been too tired to bother where he slept and Pippin had taken the opportunity to sleep near the warm pony in the cold night. Legolas was stretched out on his back and Merry had curled up into a ball using Legolas' stomach as a pillow as he quickly went to sleep.

When he looked at them Frodo felt the feeling of loneliness and fright in the darkness disappear and instead a feeling of warmth came over him. Ever since they set out from Rivendell he had been preoccupied with the Ring and with his task, grateful to have a company with him to help and protect him but never giving much thought to it. In all of Frodo's life the idea of friends being there when you needed them had been something he took for granted, it was a natural part of Hobbit life. Yet when he looked at the party now a gratefulness welled up in him which almost made him cry.

The eight people sleeping safely, trusting that he would keep them safe while they rested, had all come with him on a difficult road leading to despair, death and nightmares Frodo didn't dare to think of. That Pippin, Merry and Sam had come was only natural to him, he knew that they would follow him to whatever end for they were faithful and they were his friends who loved him. Gandalf was no surprise either since he knew better than anyone what was at stake and that Frodo would need protection. But the other four were a different matter.

Neither of them had known him when the council was held at Rivendell. Only Aragorn, and only for a short time. He would protect Frodo at the cost of his own life and Frodo knew that it was not just because of the ring he carried around his neck. Aragorn would protect him because they had become friends, and because he admired the Hobbit's courage and fortitude. Even though Frodo knew that Aragorn had his own benefits to gain from the success of the quest Frodo also knew that those were not the only reasons he had come. Aragorn was loyal and would be there to the end if he could be.

Boromir, who slept next to Aragorn, was one of the kindest men Frodo had ever met. He could lose his temper easily and he had the heart and mind of a warrior but he had a protective side which made Frodo feel safe around him. Boromir too would fight to the death if needed, and even though he sometimes voiced a different opinion than Gandalf or Aragorn he always spoke from the viewpoint of what he thought was best. If there was something weak or easily corrupted about him, Frodo could not see it at this point.

Gimli was a real treasure to have. His father Gloin had taken part in the finding of the One, but what mattered the most to Frodo was that he had travelled with Bilbo. It felt like a torch being handed over to a new generation when Frodo and Gimli together travelled on this quest. They had a lot of things to talk about, many stories to share and it felt like they had a connection through Gloin and Bilbo. Frodo would sometimes look at the Dwarf and imagine that he was out on Bilbo's quest, a much more peaceful quest which didn't have the fate of all Middle-Earth riding on it.

Legolas was the greatest surprise to Frodo. To have an Elf in the company, even though it was a given that all free people should be represented, gave the whole thing a special feel to it, like it was really something extra. Legolas' keen eyes and even keener ears were always alert; Frodo didn't know how they would have gotten this far without the Elf. The four Hobbits were all fascinated by him and flocked around him during the first days, asking him questions and begging for stories. Even though they had spent time in Rivendell among the Elves they had never been around one all day and night long, eating, sleeping and walking together. Once they had gotten to know each other better all four Hobbits seemed to find it something special to be able to be so casual with an Elf.

Frodo glanced over at Merry, using Legolas as a pillow, and smiled. He let his eyes wander over the company once more and didn't feel lonely at all. What he felt was pride and joy, pride over the great people who had come with him on this hopeless journey and pride over getting to watch over them for a few hours. They were all there to keep him safe, but at night he could keep them safe just as well. Looking after them made him feel warm and good inside. He was not the Ringbearer at this moment, not the one who stood out from the crowd, the one the others were there to watch over. He was an equal to them all, one of the Fellowship, nothing more, nothing less. And he watched them as they slept.


End file.
